authority of one man, the lordship of the world under the world's
rightful lord, Caius Julius Caesar. This, indeed, he saw in no
uncertain way. But the turning of all men's hearts to the East,
the first glimmering of that splendid dawn which broke over the
hills of Galilee and flooded the earth like wine, was hidden from
his eyes.

There are many points in the description of the ideal historian
which one may compare to the picture which Plato has given us of
the ideal philosopher. They are both 'spectators of all time and
all existence.' Nothing is contemptible in their eyes, for all
things have a meaning, and they both walk in august reasonableness
before all men, conscious of the workings of God yet free from all
terror of mendicant priest or vagrant miracle-worker. But the
parallel ends here. For the one stands aloof from the world-storm
of sleet and hail, his eyes fixed on distant and sunlit heights,
loving knowledge for the sake of knowledge and wisdom for the joy
of wisdom, while the other is an eager actor in the world ever
seeking to apply his knowledge to useful things. Both equally
desire truth, but the one because of its utility, the other for its
beauty. The historian regards it as the rational principle of all
true history, and no more. To the other it comes as an all-
pervading and mystic enthusiasm, 'like the desire of strong wine,
the craving of ambition, the passionate love of what is beautiful.'

Still, though we miss in the historian those higher and more
spiritual qualities which the philosopher of the Academe alone of
all men possessed, we must not blind ourselves to the merits of
that great rationalist who seems to have anticipated the very
latest words of modern science. Nor yet is he to be regarded